


All Excess

by sweetvampirious



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Established Relationship, Feeding Kink, Immobility, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Multi, Stockholm Syndrome, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 08:29:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16678117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetvampirious/pseuds/sweetvampirious
Summary: Negan has been intentionally gaining weight.





	All Excess

**Author's Note:**

> Carl's age bumped up to 18.

It’s simply power play at first, a display that the community he led had so much in excess compared to Alexandria that he could afford to overindulge, walking through its gates each time, the testament going unnoticed until his pot belly looked unmistakably pregnant while the rest of his body took some time to catch up to his expanding, consistently distended waistline.

His clothing is relatively forgiving, unzipped leather jacket curtaining his rounded middle from all scrutiny with the exception of Carl’s suddenly invested gaze; a few lines of strain appearing in the white fabric of his shirt, rounding out and becoming an obvious swell; six months if he’s gauging by his mother’s size for reference, a thought he has to shake to not disturb the unknown feeling overcoming him.

It isn’t until Negan surpasses the first mark, six becoming nine in a couple of weeks, jacket no longer able to zip over the curve, that his father and the others begin to talk amongst themselves, and he begins to squirm when the older man strolls through their gates, steps calculated and heavy, refusing to struggle with the added weight his pants have difficulty with, the weight that settles between his thighs and fight for limited space; but Carl catches it now and again. 

They sit together on the porch, the younger Grimes afforded a private slice of Negan’s company, something that’s become a luxury. He’s staring, trying to duck his gaze under the shadow of his father’s hat, realizing his mind is too preoccupied with watching the way Negan settles into the chair beside his own, the older man’s once slender thighs spread to accommodate the weight of his gut to fall between them, cartridge belt swung lower on thickening hips, and his hand resting between growing breasts and the top of his belly, that he’s too damn turned on to have an ounce of fear or bravery in his mind; and he never once felt the outrage about this particular thing that the rest of his community had.

Carl stands abruptly, done listening to Negan purring about weighing in at 280 while he lazily strokes his stomach, over-full from the “family dinner” that was forced on their household. His fingers moving to the straining rolls of fat at his sides, patting the solid flesh while he reveals that he spends the ride over packing himself with as much food as he could fit just to show off every inch to Rick. He’s so incredibly full that he hurts, was already so when he arrived; and that while he’s looking forward to getting bigger, the downside of coming to Alexandria is that he has to feed himself, even if it is at their table. He even complains that he doesn’t have Daryl to stuff him, to wait on him hand and foot so he doesn’t have to get up or lift a finger. Carl hears his deep laughter as the front door slams, knowing that Negan assumes he’s just as angry about the weight gain as Rick and the rest of the communities barely making it by while he continues to expand.

Negan would have been on the right track had he assumed Carl walked back in at the mention of his captive friend instead. It’s the first time Carl’s sent over the edge by him, his body, his words, dashing up the stairs, the bedroom door slamming behind him, helplessly rutting against a firm, soft pillow - it’s close enough.  


The last time Carl sees the other man, Negan’s waddle is unmistakable, he couldn’t hide it if he tried, just barely able to walk, a leather-wrapped arm out for balance while he gripped onto a gun. By Carl’s guess, Negan doesn’t walk or stand too often anymore, and hatred begins to burn for the man glued to Negan’s side. With Lucille swung over Daryl’s shoulder, he was the poster boy for Stockholm. Even with hair in covering his eyes, Carl can see the same lust burning deep within himself reflected in Daryl.

Pure shock had fallen over the Alexandria group, a collective silence. He steps out in front of his father, a better view that doesn’t make him feel like a child. Negan’s speaking, every breath dripping with exertion, and Carl can’t hear a word as he soaks in what he‘s seeing, his own pants tenting at the overhang of Negan’s belly resting against his crotch, spilling out under his shirt. It sways with every step. Apparently, he’s focused on getting more supplies, running his free hand around his girth, showing exactly what he meant - or what Carl was fantasizing when his body should have been trembling from fear, his own focus was on wondering if Negan has hit, or surpassed the 500 mark. He’s never seen anything like it and hasn’t had a comparable frame of reference since over a year ago.

He’s gone just as quickly as he arrived, and Carl barely makes something out from his words about lunch waiting after a stifled belch. He’s seething when Negan’s arm snakes around Daryl’s tight waist, pulling him in close as they walked off towards their vehicle, affection wrapped in a small display of domination. They equally knew what they were doing, and Carl didn’t register his own whisper of “Go to hell,” until his father’s hand falls onto his shoulder. It’s directed at Daryl - but Rick definitely does not need to know that. Doesn’t need to know what he’s doing with the stack of pillows he’s hoarded in his bedroom, either.

Carl’s snapped by the time he infiltrates the Sanctuary on the back of a box truck, loses a fight after picking off two Saviors. He’s delivered to what he realizes is Negan’s room when Daryl’s raspy voice answers the knock at the door; he doesn’t need more affirmation to the nature of their ... relationship, having heard his former friend being referred to as a “wife” on too many occasions already, since the last time Negan brought him back to Alexandria just to show off. Now was far from the first time jealousy has been left to rot at his core.

He’s shoved in by the man holding him captive, the large hands are off of him and he’s darting away, dismissed just as quickly as he deposited the eighteen-year-old. Apparently, Dixon has elevated his status enough to have some pull around here, but he has no time to be angry about that, though being unharmed. When he takes in the sight in front of him he inhales sharply, a little too loudly, and God, it’s so, so much better than months before. He wishes he was there to have seen it, to have helped it along, to have been that man sitting beside him.  


Negan hasn’t stopped gorging himself since Carl was tossed into the room, he was so obviously desperate to satisfy his hunger despite the red blushed, distended swell of his abused stomach protesting more food. Every bite he takes looks like ecstasy and a full body shudder and tell-tale whimper that couldn’t be held back escape Carl’s lips. It’s enough to catch his attention and earn a knowing, approving chuckle from Daryl.

Negan curses under his labored breath between heavy, rapid panting, expecting to find one of his men, without a plate of offering and prepared only to interrupt his privacy and replace his pleasure with having to listen to stupidity or gain an advance on that headache tomorrow‘s meeting would bring. He struggles onto his elbows, steadying his body, an unsuccessful attempt at sitting up when he’s pinned down by his own weight. The annoyance disappears immediately, and he looks every bit of amused as he could possibly get.

He smirks devilishly when his eyes meet with Carl’s blown-wide pupil. 

“So… gonna fuckin’ kill me!” His laugh is smooth, eyes flickering down, “Or stand there doing what you call staring?”

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing since 2015? Started off as a prompt but got a bit carried away, whoops.


End file.
